


In From The Cold

by Mack_the_Spoon



Series: Bloodlines [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3671706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack_the_Spoon/pseuds/Mack_the_Spoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter weather creates an unexpected danger for Liz, and Ressler must act quickly to ensure her safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In From The Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as Namarie's story, "What You Leave Behind, What You Choose To Become". Timeline-wise, it's after the events of that story.  
> Thanks to Namarie for editing this fic!
> 
> Also, I don't own this show or its characters.

~~~~~~

Honestly, he thought she wasn't going to make it. It made a heavy, sickening kind of sense: she had been outside for hours, and temperatures had been hovering around freezing for most of the day. And before, when she'd come in to work, Liz had made sure everyone knew how little she appreciated the weather. Not in so many words, but she was crabby, and didn't take off her coat or scarf even inside.

As luck would have it – bad luck, Ressler would have reason to think later – Reddington wasn't around. Liz had simply said he was away, when asked. She wouldn't give any more details. Maybe she didn't have any. Even if she had, of course, it wasn't likely she would have told Cooper.

Still, the first half of the day had been normal. Since they weren't currently chasing a Blacklister, it had even been pretty uneventful. Then Liz had gotten a phone call after lunch. She had stepped away to answer, but when she came back, her expression was grim.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing. It's not important,” she said. Then, sounding reluctant, she'd added silently, _I just got a tip. Someone I asked to be on the lookout. They think – they think they saw Tom._

“Your ex?” he had whispered. Her glare had been answer enough. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

She drew a slow breath and shook her head. _I should do nothing. I should leave it alone. They're not even sure it was him. And it was miles away, that he was seen._

“Okay,” he said. He doubted that she'd be able to leave this alone. Not that he blamed her. He was half-tempted to set out himself to hunt down the bastard. But he would stay. If there was any chance this was a real threat, no one needed to tell him to stick close to Liz. “Is this one of Reddington's people, who gave you the tip?”

She shook her head again. Then she gave him a brief, fake smile. “Don't worry about it,” she said, in a normal tone of voice.

But it had obviously been on her mind for the rest of the work day. When they had left (not at the same time, since they didn't want to start rumors) Ressler had casually suggested getting dinner together. Liz told him she wasn't hungry.

“Come on, it's freezing out,” he said. “Let's get something warm.”

Finally, she agreed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Burgers?”

“As long as you don't mean fast food, that sounds good.”

And of course she had actually been hungry. He considered it a success that she ate, even if she still wasn't chatty during the meal. Then once the bill was paid, Liz had gotten another phone call. It had been only a minute or so long, but when it was over, she had announced, “It's confirmed. I'm going after him.”

“You know we could call this in and send in a whole team,” Ressler had pointed out. He had not mentioned Reddington, though he was almost positive the man would not have wanted her to do it this way, either.

“They wouldn't let me be on that team, though,” she said, eyes flashing. “And I am not letting him get away again. Don't worry, Ressler. I'm not going to go by myself. My contact is at the scene. And I know you'll insist on coming.”

“I will,” he had agreed.

She had nodded. “Then let's go. I've got the address.”

Of course, by then it had started snowing. Liz just frowned when he'd gotten in the driver's seat. The heat kicked on full blast again as he started the car. A few minutes into the trip, she said, “This weather's not going to be a problem, is it? Because I learned to drive in Nebraska, so I could take over.”

He gave her a look. “Are you complaining about my driving?”

She scoffed, and then half-smiled. “Touchy. No, I don't have any complaints.” She drummed her hand on her arm rest for a minute.

“Ah. You just want to get there faster,” he guessed. “Well, I'm guessing even as a seasoned Nebraska driver, if you thought about it, you wouldn't really recommend I speed. It's already sticking out there.”

She sighed. “You're probably right. But I swear, if Tom's gone again by the time we get there...” She trailed off and her jaw clenched. For the rest of the trip, farther and farther out of the city, she hadn't broken the silence except to respond to questions in as few words as possible. He hadn't wanted to imagine what she was thinking about or remembering.

It was dark by the time they had gotten to the destination. His GPS told him it was close to the border of West Virginia. Liz had called her contact when they got close, and the man met them when they pulled off near a small wood outside of the small town of Sharpsburg. “Any sign of him since you called?” Liz asked the man without preamble. She shivered, and crossed her arms tightly.

He gave Ressler a brief glance. “I tracked him for a while, but it was snowing pretty badly, and I didn't want to get lost, myself.”

There was plenty of snow on the ground, but nothing was falling at that moment. Liz sighed. “Fine.” The light from the nearest street light had clearly shown her anger. Still, she gathered herself and nodded. “That makes sense. Take me to where you lost him, at least.”

It wasn't a long walk, but the bitter cold and the slippery ground made it slow going. Even without turning his flashlight beam onto Liz, Ressler had easily sensed her frustration. Once the man directed them to stop, she sighed again. “So, that's it. No tracks, because of the snow, and you don't know where he went or what he was doing out here.”

The man shrugged, uncomfortable. “It was lucky I was close enough to even get here in time to confirm it was him.”

Liz opened her mouth to say something, and then she froze and narrowed her eyes. She whirled around back toward the way they had come. “Who's there?” she called loudly.

Ressler turned his light toward where she was looking, to join hers. “What is it?”

“I could have sworn someone was watching us,” she said, and then shivered again as the wind began to pick up. After a moment, she turned back. “Nevermind. I'm sorry for wasting your time, Ressler. Let's get out of here.”

“So, what do you want me to do?” the man asked.

“Stay in town for a few days,” said Liz. “Keep an eye out. He's probably long gone, but just in case.”

Ressler had wanted to ask who this guy was, but he decided he'd wait until later. She was acting like he could be expected to do what she told him, which was interesting. He hadn't thought she'd had the chance to expand on her organization yet. And he'd thought he would have to meet anyone else who belonged to it, but maybe he had been wrong. It still wasn't like he had anywhere near a complete idea of this situation.

Suddenly a crack had split the silence of the night. “What the hell?” Ressler said. It had come from the direction this guy said Tom had gone. He and Liz both unholstered their weapons.

“No idea,” said Liz, but she started forward, her weapon and flashlight both out in front of her.

Ressler followed quickly, cursing when he realized the snow had started up again. “Liz, we're not going to be able to see anything.” The idea of staying out here, with visibility almost nil and someone firing a gun... This was not a situation in which he felt confident he could protect her.

She kept walking. “Let's just check,” she said, not turning to look at him. “We'll go back in a minute, but I just want to make sure we're not missing something obvious.”

There was another loud, reverberating sound, which had made them pause at that moment. “Was that another shot?” Ressler asked. It hadn't been as clear.

“I'm not –” Liz started, and then shined her flashlight around her in a circle. “Where the hell did Miller go?”

“Okay,” Ressler had stated, “we're getting out of here now.” The other man seemed to have vanished, and he was liking this less and less with every passing second.

Liz had taken one more step toward the first shot, and then she had cried out and fallen. “Liz!” Ressler quickly brought the beam of his flashlight to where she had been. There was a slight slope, and he could see a dark shape at the bottom. The snow was falling even faster. “Liz, are you all right?” He made his way down carefully. It wouldn't help if he slipped, too.

“I'm fine,” her voice had come, and he saw with relief that she was already picking herself up. “Now let's get out of here before it gets any colder.” She had dusted herself off and stood. “Damn it, I got snow inside my clothes. I'm soaking.” She sighed. “And I dropped my flashlight. Hung onto my gun, though.”

Ressler had smiled. “Well, that's good. Of the two, one's a lot bigger headache to replace.” His smile had faded, though, as he noticed how slowly she was walking, and her near-constant shivering. “Liz, are you sure you're not hurt?”

“I told you, I'm fine, Ressler,” she had said. “I'm just cold.”

And that had been when he had realized that their footprints were totally covered by the newly-fallen snow. They had to get back, before they got totally turned around. He was pretty sure he remembered the way. It was just the opposite direction from the slope. Right?

“Ressler?” Liz asked, and when he brought his light back to her face, he was alarmed by the glazed look in her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“Uh, nothing,” he had said. “Come on.” Maybe she was sick, or she'd hit her head. Either way, it didn't do any good to speculate out here.

She had followed him without comment for another few minutes, and then she stumbled. If he hadn't caught her, she would have fallen again. “Liz, you're not fine,” he said, when she had regained her footing. “What's going on?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. Her voice was as unsteady as she was on her feet. “I guess I forgot. Red told me... dragons don't do well in the cold.” She huffed a laugh without any actual humor. “I don't think we're actually cold-blooded, but...” Then she straightened. “Let's go. I don't want to find out how much worse this could get.”

When he had reached out to support her under her arm, she flinched in surprise, but then relaxed. They set off again, and Ressler hoped against hope that it was in the right direction. But a few minutes of walking began to make him worry that it wasn't. And Liz was moving even slower now, and the snow continued to fall relentlessly.

He stopped again, and Liz leaned on him. Her shivers had stopped, he realized suddenly. From what he remembered of wilderness training, that wasn't a good sign. God, this had gone from bad to worse terrifyingly quickly. He was cold, too, of course. But nothing like this. She hadn't even spoken since they stopped moving. Yet somehow she was still upright.

So he started walking again, and she still walked with him, trudging through the gathering snow and not making a sound. Several minutes later, he realized that they were going uphill. That couldn't be right. The ground they had covered after they arrived had been flat. He paused again, then decided to try switching off his flashlight briefly.

To his enormous relief, he was pretty sure he could make out the distant glow of the streetlight near where they had parked. It was, in fact, in front of them, although also off to the left. So, once he had made sure they were oriented properly, he turned the flashlight back on and started them moving forward.

They had only gone about five or six more paces when Liz made a faint sound and sagged against him. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep her upright. It was all he could do to keep her from hitting the ground at full speed. “Shit. Liz! Liz, I need you to get up. I don't think I can carry you.” He certainly couldn't keep an eye out for obstacles or uneven ground in front of them, hold the flashlight, and carry her, all at the same time.

She didn't move, or even react. Her eyes were closed. “Come on, Keen! Get up!” She was so still. He bent down and felt for her pulse. His own heart plummeted at how slow it was. This was very, very bad. Sitting down beside her, he thought (not for the first time) about calling 9-1-1. He didn't doubt that someone would get to them, but he had no idea how soon it would be. Plus, if this was some kind of dragon thing, as it seemed like it was, maybe the EMTs wouldn't know the best way to treat her. On the other hand, something had to be done soon. Surely anything that involved her getting out of the cold was better than nothing. In the meantime, he eased his partner's unconscious body up and slid her partway onto his lap. They had to conserve body heat.

_Donald,_ came a voice in his head, and he jerked and almost dropped his flashlight. _Is Agent Keen with you?_

Reddington. “Yes,” he said, and tried to make the thought as clear as possible. “She's... not doing too well. I was about to call an ambulance and hope they could get to us soon enough.”

There was a pause, although he could still feel a faint connection. _I'm afraid there's not much phone reception out here, or I would have called you instead of using a form of communication you're not built for. I'm on my way._

“How close are you?” he asked. It was extremely weird to speak out loud to someone who wasn't there. 

_Not far,_ Reddington's voice said. _I would be more precise, but this isn't a science. Is she injured?_

Ressler could hear the man's worry, though Reddington wasn't normally very emotional. “I don't think so. But she's been totally out of it for about ten minutes now, and she wasn't very alert before then, either.”

_No, she wouldn't have been,_ was his response. _I suppose the story of how this happened should wait until she's safe, but I will look forward to an explanation._

Ressler sighed. The threat was barely veiled. But he wasn't about to act as a proxy for Liz in an argument with Reddington about the risks she took. Not that he intended to shift all the blame to her – far from it. If pressed, he would say that even though he himself had been nervous about this trip, there had been no sign it was going to be this dangerous. Still, silence on that issue definitely seemed like his best bet, for the time being.

Now that he knew help was on the way, though, it seemed less foolish for him to take off his own outer coat and use it as a blanket for Liz. Her pulse, he noted after he had done so, was at least the same very slow rate that it had been a few minutes ago. However, her skin was cold to the touch, and that was disturbing. “Hold on, Liz,” he said quietly. “You're going to be okay.”

The wind was picking up, and Ressler had to brush snow off both himself and Liz frequently. By now he was shivering, and he hoped Reddington hadn't underestimated how far away he was. He wasn't about to take back his coat, but it was so damn cold that he was having trouble thinking about anything else.

In fact, it took him a few seconds for it to register when the small sphere of light created by the streetlight, barely visible from their location, expanded. It was headlights. Reddington. He made to raise the arm that held his flashlight, and found that his fingers weren't working very well. Shaking his head to try to wake himself up, he eventually managed to raise the light and shine it toward where the car was. “Over here!” he tried to shout. The snow and wind tore the sound away, and he coughed as frigid air entered his lungs.

A minute later, after he had given up shouting and relied on signaling with his flashlight, he once again heard Reddington's voice. _We see you, Donald._ Ressler thought a “Thank you” as clearly as he could, and then dropped his hand back to his side. The snow was still coming down, and he brushed it off his partner's face with a hand that barely responded to his impulses. He couldn't even tell if she was still breathing, although he chose to believe that she was.

Finally, he saw two separate beams of light getting closer, and made out the two figures carrying them: Reddington and Dembe. Ressler tried to get ready to stand as Reddington bent over Liz, but his legs weren't cooperating. But with Dembe's help, once Reddington had Liz in his arms, he stood, and the four of them left the woods. Ressler was glad of Dembe's support – without it, he didn't think he would be walking out of there.

It wasn't until they were already driving away that awareness seeped back for him. It came over him that he was sitting next to Liz, who was so completely wrapped in blankets that he could barely see her. And he himself had a blanket around him. And he didn't remember buckling his seatbelt, or even sitting down in the seat of this vehicle (an SUV, he thought; not Reddington's usual Mercedes sedan).

“Are you back with us, Donald?” Reddington asked, as if the situation was perfectly normal.

He could feel heat both from the car's air system and from the seat, and nothing had ever felt so good. Glancing over, he saw that Reddington was in the third seat. He had his arm around Liz, and was holding her close to him. Ressler's usual uneasiness at this kind of clear evidence that she meant something to Reddington came back, but it didn't seem very important for the moment. Besides, it was probably still good for her to be close to as many heat sources as possible. He cleared his throat, remembering that his rescuer had asked a question. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Then he turned to look closer at Liz. She was still pale, and the color of her lips was alarming. “Is she going to be okay?”

Reddington sighed. His expression turned serious, and he looked down at Liz before speaking. “She should recover, yes. We're on our way to a friend of mine who's more conversant in how to deal with this cold-induced torpor than I am.”

Ressler frowned. “But you're not worried. I mean, the last time I checked her pulse, I thought –”

“-that she was dying?” Reddington cut in. He shook his head. “I'm not surprised you thought that, but no. In some ways, she was better off out there than you were.” Ressler's disbelief must have shown on his face, because Reddington smiled briefly. “Even though, for all intents and purposes, when we're in human form we are physically like you, there are still differences. In this case, the reason Lizzie is in this state now is that the cold caused her body to slow down all its functions.”

“And you're saying that's not dying? For her?” Ressler asked. He recalled her words about being 'cold-blooded', and tried to think back to his high school biology classes. He didn't remember enough for it to clarify anything, though.

“Not for her, though it could have been for you,” Reddington confirmed. “Of course, eventually she would have frozen to death like anyone else, but I believe it would take a long time.”

Ressler considered this. “But you said you weren't... conversant with this.”

“I'm not an expert,” he said, with a nod. “I've never been in quite the same state, myself, though I'm familiar with its onset.” After a pause, he went on. “Please don't misunderstand me, Donald: if you hadn't stayed with her and done your best to keep her warm and safe, I have no doubt that she would have died before anyone could have reached her – even me. You did well.”

His voice was almost fond by the time he came to the final sentence. Somehow it reminded Ressler of their conversation in the Box, as Reddington had tried to convince him that they were both going to make it. He had no idea how to respond to this praise. He still couldn't make himself fully trust the man, even though it was clear he was firmly in Liz's life now. It was impossible to hate him as purely as he had back when he had been hunting him, but he wasn't sure he'd ever like him, either.

Before Ressler could think of anything to say, Dembe spoke up for the first time. “Raymond, we are almost there.”

“Excellent,” said Reddington. He looked down at Liz again. “Miranda told me we can go ahead and park in the driveway. Her husband isn't expected back from his business trip anytime soon, and the shorter the time Lizzie has to be outside in this weather, the better.”

Dembe nodded. “Is there any change?”

“In her condition? Well, she's warmer to the touch,” Reddington reported. “That's a good sign.”

Ressler still wished she would even move, or make a sound. Even if she had been just asleep, he doubted she would normally be this motionless. It was eerie.

But very soon, they were pulling up in front of a nondescript suburban house. The snow had finally slackened off, Ressler could see. He was still glad, as Reddington mentioned, that they wouldn't have to be outside for long. He himself had stopped shivering quite a while ago, but that didn't mean he looked forward to more cold.

As soon as the car stopped, a short, plump woman came out of the house. It looked like she was wearing a coat over her pajamas. However, she was not in the least bit shy. “Where is she? Let me see her,” she called, striding over to where Dembe was opening the door. “Red. How is she?”

“Much the same as when we found her,” said Reddington. “She is warmer.”

“Good. Well, bring her in before we all freeze.”

Ressler went around quickly to the other side, but Reddington was already carrying her again. Inside, the woman directed that Liz be set on the couch, which was directly in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace. Reddington did so, carefully repositioning the blankets around her afterward.

“And you, you're her number one?” said the woman, giving Ressler a once-over.

“Yeah,” he said. He wondered if this woman was a dragon. “I'm Don Ressler.”

“Miranda Eppes,” she said. “About how long has she been unconscious?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted. “We got to the site at about seven, looked around with no problem for maybe an hour. She was out after that. I don't know how long it was before Reddington got to us.”

“I didn't speak to you right away. I tried to contact Elizabeth first,” said Reddington. “All told, Miranda, I would estimate she's been unconscious for two and a half hours. And part of that was in the car on the way here, of course.”

Miranda nodded. “Poor dear. Well, the rest of you, please sit. There's room for everyone. I have hot cocoa – does anyone want some?”

Dembe, surprisingly, was the first to say 'yes', but another minute had resulted in them all agreeing. Once they'd all had some, however, Miranda asked for some help propping Liz up with several pillows. “She needs something warm to drink, too.”

Ressler was willing to help, but he couldn't help pointing out, “She's unconscious. Is she really going to be able to drink anything?”

“She needs to,” was all Miranda said.

Reddington gave Ressler a glance, as they put the last pillow in place. “I told you that Miranda knows what she's doing, Donald.”

“I do. But it's appropriate for him to be worried,” Miranda put in. “Now. Let me go get the soup.”

When she came back with a steaming mug and a spoon, as well as a napkin, Ressler stood up from where he had been sitting. He suddenly realized that this would be a scene for which Liz probably wouldn't want to have as many spectators as she would end up having. On the other hand, there was no way he was leaving, either.

And it was messy, especially at first, and Ressler cringed a little for her sake at having to be there. But after a few tries, Liz swallowed – and then she accepted the rest of the mug. All this time, she never opened her eyes. When the mug was empty, however, and Miranda stood up and took it back to the kitchen, Liz sighed and shifted position slightly.

“What now?” Reddington asked, when their host came back into the room.

“That should be the boost her body needs to restart a more normal metabolism,” said Miranda, sitting down in the one remaining empty chair in the room.

Reddington nodded. “And how long will that take?”

“Oh, Red, didn't I mention? We're going to be here all night. I'm afraid the transition from torpor back to normal metabolism is the toughest part,” she said. Then she looked at Ressler. “You can sit down, Don. We're all going to keep an eye on her.”

Ressler took her suggestion, though he wished he had a better idea of what this transition was going to mean for Liz. Still, despite his anxiety, and the cocoa that he was drinking, he must have fallen asleep.

~~~~~~

He woke with a start to raised voices. “Elizabeth, you're all right. You're safe!” Miranda was saying loudly, over what he figured out was the sound of Liz gasping in breaths.

Standing quickly, he joined Reddington and the woman in front of the couch. Liz's eyes were open wide, but it didn't look like she was getting much from what she saw. It looked like she had thrown off one of her blankets and most of the pillows, and her gaze traveled around the room like she thought she was trapped. “Lizzie, you're fine. Do you hear me?” Reddington said.

“What's wrong with her?” he hissed at Miranda.

“She's basically delirious,” was the response, also in an undertone. Louder, she said, “We're your friends, Elizabeth. Do you see that?”

Liz's eyes rested on her for a moment, and she looked confused. Then she blinked and moved her gaze to Ressler. He thought there was some recognition there, as there was when she looked at Reddington next. “Where am I?” she said, her breathing still loud.

“In a safe place,” said Reddington calmly. “Miranda here is helping you feel better. That's all.”

She still didn't seem to be quite grasping the situation, but she leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. “I'm so tired.”

“Then relax, Lizzie,” he urged her gently.

Pulling her blanket back up over her arms, she lay back and sighed. “Okay.” And in about a minute, her breathing had evened out completely.

“I might have to wake her up in a couple of hours to give her some more food,” said Miranda, her voice low. “That is, if she doesn't wake up on her own.”

“So it's not over,” Ressler said.

“Not yet,” she said, stretching her arms behind her head and yawning. “If she doesn't get more calories in her, it's still possible for the process to stall, or even reverse itself.”

“How do you know all this? Are you some kind of doctor?”

She smiled. “No. I'm just a housewife.”

And that seemed to be all the answer he was going to get. He shook his head, and bit back a yawn of his own. This Miranda Eppes must be a dragon, judging by her depth of knowledge and her occasional inability to answer a straight question.

“If you want to be helpful, in the meantime, you can stoke the fire,” said Miranda. “Your Elizabeth still needs the ambient temperature to be hot.”

Ressler gave her a sideways glance. Her calling Liz “his” made his skin crawl. He supposed she didn't mean anything by it other than the relationship that he had already acknowledged, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. Nevertheless, he followed the woman's suggestion and added another piece of firewood and some more kindling to the fire.

Something in the flames crackled loudly a minute later, and Liz recoiled and made a faint noise. “Tom,” she said, quiet but distinct. “Where...?”

“He's not here, Liz,” Ressler said, when her words tapered off. “Don't worry about it.” She didn't stir again, but when he turned to go back to his chair Reddington's gaze caught his.

“Is that what this was about tonight, Donald? She was looking for Tom?”

Ressler considered trying to blow him off, but discarded the idea based on the man's expression. “Yeah. She got a tip about a sighting earlier, and then it was confirmed.”

Reddington nodded. “I see. I assume neither of you actually found him.”

“I'm not sure if he was still around by the time we got there, but we did hear at least one unexplained gun shot,” said Ressler. “Maybe that's what the sound reminded her of just now.”

“And her source for this tip, where is he?”

“No idea. He disappeared before – before she collapsed.” Ressler swallowed involuntarily at the increased anger in Reddington's eyes, then told himself to get a grip.

“Well. That is unacceptable. Was this a man named Miller, by any chance?” He nodded again at whatever he saw in Ressler's face. “He's lucky the weather's so bad tonight.”

“For all I know, he may have been injured or gotten lost,” Ressler said. He had a pretty good idea of how Reddington would like to respond.

“But that's not what you think happened,” Reddington stated. “And I know Miller. I believe that his tip could have quite possibly been accurate. His reliability in other situations, however, is suspect.”

“As fascinating as all this is,” Miranda cut in, “maybe you could either take this conversation elsewhere, or shut up? Elizabeth needs sleep, which would be easier without all this talking. You both could use some, too, although that's none of my business.”

Ressler sat back down and tried to relax, and Reddington didn't say anything further, either. But now that he had cast his mind back to the woods, Ressler did wonder if they'd ever be able to figure out exactly what had happened tonight. He drifted off into restless sleep, and his dreams were filled with darkness, snow, and a sense of being watched.

~~~~~~

It had to be hours later when he woke up again. Though he was disoriented at first, it didn't take him long to realize that Liz was awake again, too. And he could see by the light of the fire and one table lamp that she was on her feet. “Lizzie! I need you to listen to me, all right?” Reddington was talking to her, and he had one hand on her shoulder. “I know this is confusing. You feel sick. Isn't that right? But you're getting better. And you need to stay here until you are better. It won't be long.”

Ressler stood up just in time to see her eyes flash – and then her pupils changed shape, just for an instant, becoming more reptilian before they went back to normal. He swore under his breath and ran a hand across his face. He didn't need anyone to tell him it would not be good if a confused Liz decided to try to change into her dragon form inside a house, with the outside temperature still freezing, while she was still not feeling well.

Meanwhile, Liz swayed on her feet, but maintained her watchful posture nonetheless. “Red.”

“Yes, Lizzie?” he asked, still touching her.

She blinked, and stared at him for several seconds before speaking again. Her voice was faint. “I can't stop them from doing it. I didn't figure out a way to keep them from... from using the other drug on me.”

Reddington's eyes widened, and Ressler thought he saw a muscle twitch in his face. “Lizzie, no one will ever do that to you again. Vandenburg is gone. You're not a captive.”

Ressler didn't know what she meant about “the other drug”, but he could still connect the dots well enough. His stomach clenched. Jesus, if that's what she was reliving, he had no trouble believing she would want to get away by any means. Miranda, he noticed, was standing back behind the couch. Maybe she had realized that Liz really didn't need to see someone she didn't know right now.

“But I feel sick,” his partner said, confused. A tremor ran through her.

“I know,” Reddington said gently. “But no one has given you any drugs. It's just like I told you, my dear: you need to get better. And you're almost there.”

She looked down at his hand on her arm, then the blanket that was still mostly wrapped around her. “I'm cold.”

“Why don't you lie down? We can build up the fire again.” He spoke lightly. “There's nothing like a nice wood fire, is there? It's the perfect thing on a winter's night.”

Liz allowed him to help her the few steps back to the couch. She still looked she was trying very hard to understand what was happening, and not quite getting there.

“I once met a man in Singapore – a transplant from the Northern Territories, in Canada, I believe it was – who still insisted on having a fireplace in his home. It's rare for temperatures in Singapore to drop much below seventy degrees Fahrenheit, but poor homesick Walter still made a wood fire every night from November to February. Drove his wife crazy.”

Liz's eyelids were drooping, and she didn't react other than to blink when Reddington tucked the blanket back around her shoulders. Then she let out a soft sigh. Within another minute, she was asleep.

“How much longer is she going to have to go through this?” Ressler asked, keeping his voice low.

Miranda blew out a breath and came around closer to the rest of the group. She glanced at her watch. “Well, it's just past one thirty now. That means if we're lucky she might wake up just one more time before the morning. And unless she tells us she's hungry when she does wake up, I won't bother her by making her eat again.”

“Thank you, Miranda,” said Reddington.

“Thank you for convincing her not to transform,” Miranda returned. “I don't want to think about how bad that would have been.”

Reddington just nodded. For the first time, Ressler noticed how tired the man looked. He had taken off his hat and coat hours ago, of course, but he was still wearing his vest. By this time, though, he looked a lot more disheveled than he usually did. Of course, the FBI agent was sure he didn't look clean and bright, himself. It was odd to be in such a position relative to each other. It felt weirdly domestic.

Dembe, somehow, looked about the same as always. Ressler supposed he looked tired, but he still looked like he would be ready for just about anything that might take place at a moment's notice. If it had been Dembe who had the habit of telling stories, Ressler had the feeling Dembe's stories of his experiences might rival those of his boss.

“Oh, I'll get the fire,” Ressler said, suddenly remembering. He crouched down, added another few pieces of wood, and used the poker to make sure they were in position to burn well. He yawned as he stood up, and then it occurred to him that tomorrow was only Thursday. Liz could, and probably should, call in sick. It didn't seem like a good idea for them both to do that, though. But there was nothing to be done about it right now.

~~~~~~

The next (and hopefully last) time that Liz woke up, Ressler almost missed it. When he did open his eyes, there was only a quiet murmur from the direction of the couch. He turned and peered over in the light of the dying fire, and saw Miranda sitting next to Liz. Liz said something, and he heard Miranda answer, “Of course, dear. Let me just get you some.” Then she stood and headed toward the kitchen.

Ressler considered getting up, but since Liz didn't seem anxious, he decided to let things be. To his surprise, it didn't look like either Reddington or Dembe were awake. And he didn't know exactly how aware Liz was. Still, he was happy to see that when Miranda came back with another mug, Liz took it from her and drank rather than having to be fed. She was definitely doing better.

“Thank you,” he heard Liz say, when she was done.

“You're welcome. Are you cold? Should I stoke the fire?”

He didn't quite catch his partner's response, but Miranda left with the mug and came back with another blanket. She did not move toward the fire. In another few minutes, everyone was quiet again.

~~~~~~

“I still feel like I have a hangover, or something,” Liz told Miranda the next morning, staring down at her bowl of oatmeal. “I mean, nothing hurts, but my head's pretty fuzzy. And I'm exhausted.”

“That's normal,” Miranda said. “All your noticeable symptoms should be gone by the end of the day. You'll want to be extra careful to stay warm for at least a week, though – you need to help your body keep its equilibrium for a while until it can do it more automatically.”

“Too bad I don't think the weather forecast is going to help me out with that,” Liz muttered. She took a bite, then turned to him. “Ressler, is your car still back there? How are you going to get to work?”

“Yeah, it is still there,” he said. He shrugged. “But I already called Cooper, before you woke up this morning. He said the whole city's basically shut down because of the snow. Unless there's an emergency, he doesn't expect anyone to come in today.”

“Then are we even going to be able to leave?” she wondered.

“The snowplows should get here sometime soon,” said Miranda. “Right now, you need to eat.”

Liz raised her eyebrows, but took another obedient bite. “Is there coffee?”

“There is. But I recommend you take it slow. Your stomach might not want something so strong,” Miranda warned.

Liz managed a cup without any trouble, and reluctantly left it at just one. “You've been so kind, Miranda. I'm sorry to have to keep asking you for things, but I was hoping I might be able to take a shower.”

Miranda waved a hand. “Oh, it's nothing. I'm glad I could help. And of course you can. Use the master bath. Just let me move one of the space heaters in there first. It's not the most well-insulated room of the house, unfortunately.”

Reddington came back into the kitchen just as Miranda had left and Liz was getting up. “Ah, Lizzie, you've finished your breakfast. I just asked Dembe to go out and get your overnight bag from the trunk of the car. I thought you might want a few things.”

Liz blinked, and exchanged a glance with Ressler, before shaking her head slightly. “You've been in my house.”

“You've invited me into your house, Lizzie,” was his response, typically unruffled. “I didn't take anything from you, if that's what you're getting at.”

She sighed. “Fine. Thank you. I'll go find Dembe.” _At this point, it's not even worth the argument,_ she added privately to Ressler, before leaving the room.

Ressler's lips twitched, but he kept his face impassive. He noted that no such offer had been made to him when he'd been getting ready that morning. Not that he actually minded, considering what that would have meant for his privacy.

“Donald, since it seems we'll be waiting here for a little while, at least, I wondered if we might continue our conversation about yesterday evening,” Reddington said.

Ressler stood and poured himself another cup of coffee. “What do you want to know?”

“The whole story,” Reddington said, sitting down at the dining room table and looking expectant.

“Don't you want to hear it from Liz?”

“Of course,” he replied. “But I need to hear it from you, too. And she's busy.”

Ressler took a sip of coffee and then sat. He tried not to worry that this would be like an interrogation. “All right. Agent Keen got the first tip at work, after lunch yesterday. She told me about it, but she said she would leave it alone because it wasn't confirmed.” He went on to describe the confirmation she'd gotten during dinner.

“And you didn't suggest this matter might warrant backup?”

“I told her the FBI would send a team if she called it in,” said Ressler. “She said that would mean she wouldn't be allowed to be involved.”

Reddington nodded. “I see.” He stared out through the sliding glass door at the whiteness outside, before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the FBI agent. “So the two of you left by yourselves instead.”

“That's right,” Ressler said. “I drove to where she told me to go. The weather was already bad by then, but the roads weren't awful.” He explained the scene when they got there, the gunshot, the disappearance of Miller, the second sound, and Liz's fall. “I think that was when the cold really started to get to her. She wasn't hurt, but she kind of started zoning out after that. And it was snowing pretty hard by then.”

“And then you tried to make it back to the car,” Reddington said. “But Agent Keen wasn't able to get there. And I do realize that you attempting to carry her while also keeping your eyes on the path wouldn't have been a good idea.”

“Yeah,” said Ressler. He cleared his throat, remembering his feeling of helplessness. “I was just about to call someone when you contacted me. Or try to call someone, I guess, since you said the cell reception was bad.”

“Yes,” Reddington said. “Well. That about covers it, I suppose.”

Ressler drank the rest of his coffee. “I'm curious: if cell reception was so bad, did you track us the way you and Keen can normally find each other? Because she was pretty out of it.”

“She was, which was why I had to track you, instead,” Reddington said. “It's not as easy when the target doesn't have a scrap of telepathic ability, but it can be done.”

Scoffing, Ressler stood to put his cup by the sink. “I'm just going to concentrate on being glad you could find us, and not think too much about you being in my head.”

“Oh, please, Donald, as if I have any interest in being your head,” Reddington said with a laugh. “But, desperate times, as they say.”

“Right,” said Ressler. “I hope it wasn't too traumatic for you.”

“All's well that ends well.”

~~~~~~


End file.
